


Hold Your Devil by His Spoke

by thereweregiants



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23746615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereweregiants/pseuds/thereweregiants
Summary: The first time they meet after their rebirth, they try and murder each other.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 26
Kudos: 83





	Hold Your Devil by His Spoke

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you're in a Mood
> 
> title from [Laura Marling's Devil's Spoke](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QirL0HXnyS4)  
> written to her I Speak Because I Can

The first time they meet after their rebirth, they try and murder each other.

Both men wear new uniforms, both men wear masks. It’s not enough, of course - you can’t hide body language. Jack wants to laugh at it, really. How does everyone not look at this overly dramatic figure in black and not know exactly who it is? Behind the visor he licks his lips, feeling the ghost of a kiss as he points his rifle and fires. 

They don’t manage to kill each other, though they do try their best. Jack shoots off a couple of Reaper’s fingers once, in return gets a gut shot that takes a week to heal from and leaves him with one less kidney. He does wonder, absently, if either of them _can_ die. Maybe if he died he’d come back as something like Reaper, and if he kills Reaper then he might metamorphose into whatever comes next. 

Evolution in action, thanks to government experimentation gone rogue. 

It gets tiring, trying to kill someone that won’t die. They start to shoot past each other more than at each other, then one day Reaper manages to save Jack when they’re both surprised by an omnic with rogue programming. 

After that it was all rather inevitable. 

There’s just too much history between them for them not to fall right back into it, despite their best intentions. They start by talking, just a little. Then comes the arguments, and then comes getting slammed against a wall and finding out that it’s still painful getting hard with that many layers of armor on. 

Jack takes off his visor, looks at Reaper for the first time without his vision washed in blood. A cold metal claw traces the deep lines indented from forehead to cheek, across his lips. 

If you wanted to copy my style there were better ways to do it, Reaper says. 

Jack smiles at it, face aching from the unfamiliar use of muscles. When he reaches to grab at Reaper’s mask, he’s suddenly across the room. The smile is gone. 

Fair’s fair, he says.

Not in this case. There’s nothing under there you want to see. 

It’s you.

The bone white mask shakes back and forth, and Jack wonders, not for the first time, if the mask was made or grown. It’s not him. Not anymore, Reaper says. 

Once they start fucking and Jack gets to know the rest of Reaper’s body, he never asks to take the mask off again.

Reaper keeps his uniform on because underneath it is memory wrapped around bone. If clothing is pressing in, the lizard brain will remember that his chest should expand here, a thigh should fill the fabric there. 

It means that when Jack gets fucked now, there’s ceramic plating catching on the wings of his shoulderblades, the sharp edges of open belt buckles cutting into his thighs. He asks Reaper once if he ever has problems keeping his cock solid, but he can hear a smile in the smoky voice when he replies that he’s too focused for that.

Early on they stripped down completely once, just once. Jack found himself with his hands braced on a chest that kept  _ giving _ under his weight in horrible ways, compressing like crumbling sand one moment and spongy tree rot the next. His fingers sank down through flesh that mostly felt like thick sheets of fungus, mushrooms left to feed and grow on bones in the dark until they sat up and pretended they were something like a man. 

Jack clutched at the ribs underneath, felt the marks in the bone that were runes or alchemical symbols or mysterious math, or perhaps just cracks from where the explosion turned Gabriel’s body into so much clay. He turned his head to the side and choked back vomit in revulsion but doesn’t stop riding, thrusting down because somewhere in this pile of horror and deterioration is the man he once loved, who still is whispering  _ don’t - fuck don’t stop Jackie  _ in a voice that sounds like the wind through empty halls.

When he comes his semen falls through Reaper’s body, pools on the ground beside his stained-dark spine. Reaper comes too but it hurts - thick and burning inside of Jack as claws cut deep into him on the outside. Pained tears fall to streak down the bone white of the mask Reaper refuses to take off and neither man asks for nor offers apologies.

They get better. Moments stolen in dark alleys and darker rooms, trying not to think of what they’ve become.

Jack gets fingered open by hands that have claws at the tips now, and there’s as much blood as there is lube. He doesn’t complain, almost welcomes the hot lines traced inside of him. It’s hard to feel anything nowadays, pain is as good as anything else.

Sometimes Reaper takes off his coat, leaving him bare almost to the shoulder. His body gets enthusiastic, sprouting tendrils of smoke that caress Jack’s body, wrapping around him and looking for openings. One thread probes at the opening of his cock, another brushes over his eyes.

A thick tendril teases at Jack’s lips and he opens up for it, letting the darkness rest heavy on his tongue. It fills his mouth with its weight and not-weight, its substance and not-substance, with how it tastes like ashes and like nothing and like the inside of Gabriel’s mouth after a day of fighting. It fills his mouth and fills his throat and slips down down down until Jack thinks that it’s wrapping around his heart and squeezing, because everything is going that same soft black at the edges of his vision.

He doesn’t know how long he’s gone, wakes up to Reaper still pounding into him, claws cutting into his waist and thighs spread screamingly wide. He breathes in, breathes in the remnants of Gabriel and fades out once more. 

Jack comes to again and again, doesn’t know how long he’s been out each time. Reaper is a machine, forcing himself into Jack’s body, forcing Jack’s body onto him, two things that shouldn’t go together but are made to fit by sheer determination. It’s less sexual than desperation, less lust than survival. Two bodies defying physics and sense to occupy the same space.

Jack doesn’t get to feel helpless these days, doesn’t get to let go. And so now, now he lets his body fall limp and closes his eyes and breathes Reaper in.

He awakens to a hard slap to his cheek, snapping his head sideways and tracing thin red lines where careless claws slice in. He is sore and raw and sloppily gaping open, sluggishly leaking, smearing onto the floor as he sits up.

You were gone, Reaper says, a hand wrapped around Jack’s thigh.

A shrug. Came back, didn’t I. Jack doesn’t sound particularly happy about that. He breathes carefully, deeply, taking into account the various bits of already healing damage. What would you do if I died there, he says idly. If you really did fuck me to death?

Silence, but for the soft sound of claws against vulnerable flesh, scratching gently, soothingly. I’d bring you back, Reaper says finally.

So I’d be like you.

Just a couple of monsters.

Jack doesn’t say that Reaper isn’t a monster, he’s not that good a liar. He also doesn’t say that they’re already a monstrous couple because sometimes the truth is worse than the lie. Standing up slowly, feeling tired and used, Jack puts himself back together piece by piece until Soldier 76 stands there.

They go out separate entrances, two nightmarish legends wandering off to fight another day.  Jack wonders, as he gets on his hovercycle, how long they can keep this up. Until one of them figures out how to die, he supposes. 

With any luck, they’ll be together.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/thereweregiants)


End file.
